


Snow Angels 3

by sudapigrafool



Series: Snow Angels [3]
Category: My So-Called Life
Genre: M/M, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudapigrafool/pseuds/sudapigrafool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's not so much about knowing that "home is where the heart is," as finding your way there</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angels 3

Shane wakes up to the sound of Dave Grohl’s crashing cymbals coming from his clock-radio. _"…I don’t care what you think,"_ the lyrics are droning, _"unless it is about me."_ Drain You. The next thing he notices is how cold it is in his bedroom. Jesus, it’s fucking freezing. His mom must have turned down the heat again because it’s only the end of October and she’s trying to save money. True, things have been rough since Shane’s dad left, and the winters are long in Pittsburgh. But Shane’s guessing the temperature really dropped already last night. Christ, what is she waiting for? Icicles to form in the shower?

_"… a passionate kiss, from my mouth to yours…"_

And here he’s been worrying about Jordan freezing his balls off in that drafty loft.

Shane drags his blankets off of the bed with him and, wrapped up like a mummy, stumbles his way to the thermostat in the hall. He nudges the dial around gently until, down in the basement, he hears their aging furnace shudder to life. That should be enough to get him through the morning. He’ll turn the temperature setting back before he leaves for school. Meanwhile, he decides to head off to the kitchen and brew some coffee. That'll give the tile floor in the bathroom a couple minutes to thaw out before he tries to walk over it.

He’s alone in the house. His mom’s already gone for the day, working her second job, or maybe she’s working overtime, he’s not sure. Seems like she’s always working one job or another. It keeps the roof over their heads and Shane’s grateful, like he knows he should be, most of the time. Because whenever she is at home, she’s usually stressing out about something and then they fight. Shane couldn’t even tell you why, or what about half the time; it’s, like, stupid. And some days she’ll come home in the middle of the afternoon with a few hours off and want to sleep because she’s exhausted all the time, but Shane never knows when that’s gonna happen. So then he tries to be quiet, and he doesn’t ever have friends over anymore, otherwise they’ll be getting yelled at for making too much noise. Or leaving a mess. Actually, Shane has come to the conclusion it’s probably better for everyone if he’s not even there at the same times she is, so generally he’s not. His home life has come down to a series of hastily scrawled notes she leaves for him on the kitchen counter. And sometimes he writes her an answer back, but other times it hardly seems worth it, like he’s just asking for trouble.

But, whatever.

Thirty minutes later, Shane's scarfing down something cold and leftover he found in the fridge and glancing out the kitchen window when he sees Jordan pull up out front. He hears him tapping impatiently on the horn of his car, and sprints for the door. His hair is still damp from the shower as he leaps down the walk, and he’s only got one arm in his coat when he clambers into the front seat, but he brought coffee -- milk and sugar -- just like he promised.

And, "Here," Shane thrust a small, brown paper bag in Jordan’s direction. "I made you some pop tarts. They’re still warm."

"Thanks," Jordan says uncertainly. The car cup of coffee in his hand has a bright pink logo on it, a silhouette of a girl in a leotard. Like, on the sign of the aerobics school in town that right now Jordan can’t remember the name of. "Is this your mom’s?" he asks.

"Yeah, but she won’t miss it, she’s got a bunch of ’em," Shane tells him. It’s from one of the many places she's worked, behind the desk. "Eat your pop tarts," he urges. "They’re good for you. They have fruit in them."

Jordan peers into the bag and finds a pair of toaster pastries smeared with a glaze of melted frosting, all wrapped up in a white paper napkin. It’s sort of weird, he’s thinking, to have Shane pack a hot breakfast for him. Not that he isn’t grateful. He gulps down some coffee and bites into one of the crumbly tarts.

"Strawberry," Shane says, clearly pleased with himself, while watching Jordan eat. Truthfully, Shane can't help but notice how he's looking kinda the worse for wear this morning, like his night in the loft was a little sketchy. Because except for a clean shirt, basically Jordan’s got on exactly what he was wearing yesterday, and his hair looks… well, it looks like he tried to wash it in a bathroom sink, which he probably did, with something other than shampoo.

"Pretty good," Jordan tells him. He’s so hungry right now he’d eat cardboard, but to be perfectly honest, what he’d actually been obsessing about was more like an Egg McMuffin. And maybe some jelly donuts.

"Hey, look what I found," Shane’s shifting around in the seat next to him, and suddenly a battered geography textbook appears in his hand. "I thought it was gone forever and I was going to have to pay for it." He sounds relieved.

"They’d make you pay for _that_?" Jordan says incredulously before a frown spreads across his face. "Is that like, for all textbooks? Or…?" Uh-oh. He's easing the car away from the curb only touching the wheel with the palms of his hands, ’cause now his fingers are sticky.

"Any textbook," Shane informs him. "School policy, it’s in the student handbook." Which obviously Jordan never read. "You have to turn in all your books at the end of the year or pay up before they’ll let you pass. Why?"

Jordan sighs audibly. "I am so screwed," he mumbles.

Shane doesn’t mean to laugh, but somehow the first " _ha!_ " slips out before he can stop himself. "You’ve got till the _end of the year_ , dude…" but then, he's like, wait. "Why, what did you do?" he asks. Probably got suckered by somebody else who lost a textbook and sold one, or two. Or, made some kind of a trade. "Do you even know where they are?" He’ll get them back. Shane will make sure of it.

"Some are in my locker," Jordan answers slowly. "Some are… at home."

Home. The place Jordan has been avoiding lately like his life depended on it.

"Oh." Huh. Well, this puts a different spin on things, Shane realizes, if Jordan’s not planning on going back home between now and …the end of the school year? Yeah, that’s pretty bad. That’s a new low even for him and his dad, for sure.

"Hey, your old man’s gotta leave the house sometime," Shannon offers. "To go to work, or something."

"Don’t count on it," Jordan grumbles, making a hard left down the street behind the school. He’s headed towards the student parking lot where Shane can already see some of the other guys hangin’ for a last smoke before the bell.

This is always the tricky part with Jordan. His dad is the only family he's got left and Shane can never quite figure out if Jordan loves him or hates him, or a little of both. He's definitely afraid of him sometimes. Justifiably, if you're asking Shane's opinion. But on the other hand, Jordan's stood up to his dad before, and nobody wants to be totally alone in the world. So, what's his old man done this time, Shane wonders?

"No, you know what?" Jordan goes on, tight-lipped. "You’re right, actually. Eventually he’ll have to get up off his ass to make a run to the liquor store. I’ll just wait till then."

He swerves on to the lot with a harsh twist of the wheel and guns the engine, squealing the tires as he brakes to a sudden stop in his usual parking place. The car rocks on its suspension and Shane makes a grab for the dash to keep from sliding off the seat. Behind them, he can hear their friends hooting it up, "Yo, Catalano! What’s the nine-one-one?" They’re mocking him. They don’t really mean anything by it, but their timing is lousy.

Probably, Shane decides, this isn’t really the moment to be trying to discuss serious things.

"I gotta get some other stuff outta there anyway," Jordan sighs quietly. "Some clothes and stuff."

"You want to go after school? I’ll come with you?" Shane offers. Strength in numbers, maybe they could bring Tino along, too. "Then you could come back to mine, get a shower, do some laundry?"

"Yeah," says Jordan climbing out the driver side door, not making eye contact. "Thanks, sounds good." Because the truth is Jordan doesn’t have enough change in his pockets for a trip to the Laundromat.

Joel has walked up behind Jordan and is grabbing him roughly by the shoulder. "Whoa, greased lightening!" His voice is too loud and he thinks he’s being clever.

"Get off," Jordan tells him curtly. Suddenly, his face is a carefully guarded mask of indifference, and he shrugs out from under Joel’s hand. The rest of the guys laugh and surge noisily ahead of them. Across the frosted lawn, Shane spies Angela walking while peeking over her shoulder at the commotion, her eyes are nearly hidden beneath the dark red veil of her hair.

Jordan must see her, too, because "I think," he murmurs quietly, "Angela still has my Lit book." Well, shit. From back in the days when she used to write out his report papers for him, Shane figures.

What _does_ Odysseus want?

And instantly Shane's thinking to himself, of course she does. Of course, because what else could possibly go wrong today, when it's not even first period yet?

Because it’s just this sort of thing between her and Jordan, exactly _this_ that’s, like, the tether of thread that keeps pulling him back to her. Where he’ll get all tangled up again. In knots.

The pang Shane feels in his gut is unexpected and real, and he’s angry. He's fucking pissed off. Jordan is scuffing along beside him, eyes never looking up, just watching his own footfalls one after the other while his gaze never leaves the ground. Maybe he can’t look up because he knows if he does… And it’s like deep down inside Shane can actually, physically feel the unraveling.

She has no right.

She needs to leave him the fuck alone.

\--stop--


End file.
